Two Worlds Collide
by miraeyeteeth
Summary: A redeemed Pitch falls out of his world and into one where a still evil Pitch lurks. And he's captured Jack... A two-shot spin-off of sorts to A Home For Fear. Now with more alternate endings.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note- Yay, snow day! Thanks, Jack! In return, allow me to write a story in which you have been terribly tortured!_

_The basic premise behind this is that my Pitch, the one I wrote in my other fic, A Home For Fear, has somehow managed to stumble into one of the other stories, where Pitch is an evil bastard who really likes to hurt Jack. My Pitch, on the other hand, is friends with Jack and is a sort of okay guy, for the boogeyman. That's all you really need to know about him to understand the story._

_Warnings- Mentions of violence and torture. _

* * *

Pitch struggled out of unconsciousness, finally managing to pry his eyes open. He rubbed his forehead with a groan. Where was he? What had happened? Last thing he recalled was falling through some kind of portal…

"Who dares to intrude on the lair of the Nightmare King?" Pitch heard someone demand from behind him. He turned around abruptly and found himself face to face with… himself. For a moment the two Pitch Blacks just stared at each other.

"Is this some kind of trick?" They both asked in stereo. The other Pitch narrowed his eyes. "Who _are_ you?"

"Pitch Black, same as you, it would appear." The newly-awakened Pitch got to his feet. "I suppose I've ended up in some kind of parallel reality." He grinned at the other him. "How nice that the first person to greet me is such a handsome devil."

That got a smile from the other. "Charming, too. So, your reality is different from mine? How so? Did you beat the Guardians?"

"No, unfortunately. I gather you didn't either?"

"No, though I have managed to gain some small measure of revenge… Would you like to see?"

"Of course I would."

"Follow me, then."

The two of them swept through the shadowy lair effortlessly. Finally, they reached what must have been what the other Pitch had been referring to. It took Pitch a moment to recognize the small, terribly battered figure chained to the wall, but when he did, panic swept through him. _No, no, it can't be. This isn't my Jack._

The other Pitch, sensing the fear, looked at the new one questioningly. "What's the matter? Don't you like what I did with him? I mean, he's not completely broken yet, but I think I'm pretty close by now…"

Pitch turned on the other him with a scream of rage, shadows and nightmare sand springing to his command.

* * *

Pitch stumbled over to the wall, breathing heavily. It hadn't been easy, but he had finally managed to drive the other him off. He'd never thought he would have had to fight _himself._ The boogeyman reached the spot where this reality's Jack was pinned, and the fresh sight of the boys wounds made him wince. "Oh, Jack…" he whispered.

The frost spirit's eyes sprang open and fixed on him. "No, no, please…" he pleaded, eyes wide.

The sheer amount of fear that washed off of Jack was breathtaking. It was incredible, delicious and heady. For a moment, Pitch's mind went blank as he drank in the sweet treat.

His expression must have changed to something predatory, because Jack stopped speaking and, with a whimper, shrank back as much as possible. Pitch gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, nails biting into his palm. This wasn't what he was here for. He couldn't afford to waste time like this, not when the other him might recover and return at any time.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Pitch said softly. The boy didn't seem to believe him, judging from the fear still spilling through the air like blood in the water. Pitch supposed he couldn't blame him. He reached up and touched the shackles around the boy's wrists, the restraints dissolving under his fingers. Jack fell forward from the wall, too weak to hold himself up. Pitch caught him before he hit the ground, but at the boogeyman's touch the frost spirit shrieked and recoiled, jerking out of the hold and landing heavily on the stone floor. He gave a moan of pain but still tried to scramble away from Pitch.

The sight of Jack so damaged brought back that same feeling of intense rage Pitch had felt before, rage at the other him and rage at the fact that this had been allowed to happen, somehow.

He clung to it, focusing on that instead of just how much he _enjoyed_ the terrible, broken fear that Jack was giving him so generously. "Idiot! You'll only harm yourself more!" he growled. The boy didn't listen, why wouldn't he just _listen?_ Pitch suddenly caught sight of black veins that were running under Jack's skin, visible on both his neck and the sliver of pale waist that his hoodie had been hiked up over in his struggle. Pitch froze for an instant. "No, he _didn't_..." he whispered.

Pitch waved his hand and shadows curled back around Jack's arms and legs, restraining him once more. The boogeyman crouched down and pushed Jack's hoodie further up his torso, ignoring the boy's keening pleas for him to stop. There, in the side. What looked like an old puncture wound and stemming from it, hundreds of inky black veins, darker than the bruises, abrasions, and cuts littering Jack's chest. Pitch took a inhaled, hissing breath in sympathy. That looked bad, very bad, and it was most certainly spreading. Pitch could draw out the darkness, but it would be most certainly unpleasant for Jack. He flicked his eyes to Jack's face. The frost spirit was staring at him in stark, abject terror, his entire body quaking. Pitch swallowed. What had gone just so wrong in this reality? He supposed it didn't matter; he had no power to change the past. Though maybe he could effect the future. "I'm afraid I lied, Jack. This _will_ hurt. …For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He pressed one hand to the puncture wound and called to the nightmare sand beneath Jack's skin. The Guardian's body arched in agony and a rending scream pierced the air.

* * *

Jack had mercifully passed out partway through the extraction process. Pitch had managed to keep the Nightmares away from him, though the beasts always were unruly and these ones weren't even his. After he smashed three or four of them into bits, though, they got the message to keep away.

Finally finished, he gathered Jack's small, limp body into his arms and was about to vanish into the shadows when it occurred to him that there was something missing. Where was Jack's staff? He sent his shadows out questing and they returned momentarily with eight bits of wood. Of course. Pitch checked to make sure he had all of the pieces, then tied them in a bundle with one of the leather laces that held Jack's pant legs to his calves. Something not of shadows. No reason to make it easier for the other him to get his hands back on them.

That done, he melted into the shadows, bringing Jack with him. It was time to visit the North Pole.

Thinking of the Guardians made his blood boil. Jack was one of them, wasn't he?! How could they have allowed this?! They should have protected him! Not only were they self-righteous, arrogant, narrow-minded, unimaginative, humorless twats, they were bloody useless in this reality too! By all rights, he should march in there and beat the lot of them to within an inch of their immortal lives. Then he could sequester Jack away and shield him from everything and anything, and never let him out of his sight.

But he couldn't. He wasn't a part of this reality and would have to return home sooner or later. Besides, Jack would never recover under his care. Physically, certainly, he could. But mentally? The boy needed hope and wonder, sweet dreams and good memories to wash away whatever atrocities he had endured. Not the nightmares and shadows that Pitch had to offer, as much as it galled him to admit it.

So Pitch marched up to the door of Santoff Clausen and pounded on it furiously, until North opened it and his face washed over with fear for Jack and anger at the boogeyman. Pitch snarled and thrust Jack into the Cossack's arms. "You're a Guardian, aren't you?! So _GUARD_ him!" He hurled the staff pieces at North's feet and vanished before the man decided to attack him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note- Danggit, guys, I'm not supposed to add extra chapters to things that are one shots! Last time I did that, it turned into a 27-chapter-long-and-still-growing fic. It's terrible, I tell you!_

_…I'm so, so weak. I think I was also slightly off of my rocker when I wrote this, so, yeah, it's weird. Sorry._

_Without further ado, I give you part 2, which I have entitled "Why It Is A Really, Really Bad Idea To Jump Into Parallel Dimensions"_

* * *

He should have known it wouldn't have been so easy to find his way back home. He didn't have the faintest idea where to find another one of those portals, or how to open one. His memory was a bit fuzzy around what had happened the first time, probably the shock of switching between realities. He'd certainly never heard of that happening before, and worse, he didn't have anyone here he could turn to. The Guardians hated him, Jack hated him, his other self hated him, and no one else could see him. None of the nightmares in this realm were his.

He should have kept Jack for himself after all. At least then he would have had company, even if it was just from a shattered reflection of a friend.

Pitch had kept away from the Guardians, though. He didn't want them to waste their energy that could be spent protecting and healing Jack on fighting him. He didn't want to explain himself either. The two of himself that were in this reality were identical, physically. These Guardians had already proven themselves so inept as to lose Jack to Pitch's clutches once. He didn't even want to think about how dreadfully _easy_ it would be for the other him to steal in and harm Jack again if those idiots trusted someone with golden eyes and pale grey skin. Once time passed and no obvious catch was found, they'd soon forget about how Pitch handed Jack back to them, dismiss it as a lapse in the boogeyman's already shattered sanity. And Jack would be safe, or as safe as he could be surrounded by complete blithering morons constantly.

But that didn't help ease the return of the terrible, aching loneliness that came flooding back to Pitch after all these years. It seemed harsher, sharper than the last time he had tasted it, or maybe he just wasn't as numb anymore.

The shadows weren't even comforting any more. Not when there was his other self out there, leaping out to scream his fury at being denied his vengeance and wanting to destroy this betrayer, this impostor, this imitator of a true Nightmare King. And the first dozen times Pitch had been more than happy to clash with himself. He too, had wanted to rip and tear and hurt and maim, just like Jack had been ripped and torn and hurt and maimed.

But slowly, slowly, his anger started to ebb away. It wasn't as though he didn't still despise his other self for what he had done, oh, no. It was just… getting harder to care. They'd clash and scream and cut, then limp away to lick their wounds and get ready for the next time. Again, and again. It was so repetitive and, honestly, _boring._ Nothing changed. It wasn't as if either of them could destroy each other; you couldn't kill fear and it was hard to trap the other when both of them had the same mastery over shadows. It was just a waste of time and energy.

But he supposed he had nothing but that now, considering he was trapped here, alone.

Or so he believed.

Until he felt something starting to… slip.

He had been stronger than the other boogeyman to begin with, he probably had gained more believers in his time working with Jack, instead of plotting against him. But that wasn't the case any more. In fact, if anything, he was getting weaker than his other self. He wasn't sure if he was simply losing believers in his reality due to him not being there, or if he was somehow losing whatever had kept them connected to them and his home in the first place.

It didn't really matter, he supposed. Once he had begun to feel that tug, though, it had all started to unravel, ever faster. It was like the first crack that formed on thin ice. Such a little thing, but now that it was there, it was all over. Another movement, another breath, even just a bit of hesitation and the ice underneath you creaks and gives way all at once.

Pitch was starting to feel all grainy and weak now. He couldn't even stand anymore, just laid on the ground he had collapsed on, wheezing. Raising a hand to his face, he could see pieces of himself starting to flake off, and nightmare sand landed on his cheek. Was this how Sandy had felt when he had been taken over? No wonder the Guardian had been so mad at him when he got back, this hurt like hell. That last thought struck Pitch as pretty funny. He laughed, or tried to. The only sound that came out was a kind of choked rattling noise. So this was how it ended? Well, he hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected anything, really. He'd always assumed he'd keep existing until the very last human had died. Not that he had any say in the matter in any case.

_Well, it was fun while it lasted,_ he thought. Then the boogeyman closed his eyes and faded away.

* * *

_Author's Note- Aaaand now I have given myself a sad. Are you happy now? Now I'm going to write the crackfic ending, so help me God. Prepare yourself for silliness and mood whiplash!_

* * *

Pitch managed to find the same weird, glowing rift that he had fallen through before. Were those… letters swirling around in there? There were an awful lot of W's and backslashes and periods. Most of it was gibberish, though there were a few recognizable words and… did that just say 'fanfiction'? Was it in a different language? Pitch was pretty sure he was fluent in most living or dead languages. He supposed it didn't matter, so long as it took him home.

Plunging into the portal, he abruptly found himself inside of another cavern. His lair? It looked the same, but the other Pitch had the same sense of décor except for stringing up people to the wall, so…

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" A familiar voice demanded of him, and Pitch sighed.

"I'm you, in a way." He turned around warily, wondering what was wrong with this version of him. "…Why are you not wearing a shirt?"

The shirtless Pitch looked at him in confusion, and, as if to answer Pitch's questions, a pair of pale white arms snaked up around the boogeyman's bare torso from behind. The face of this Jack Frost appeared over the shirtless Pitch's shoulder and nuzzled against his neck. "G'morning, Pitch," he mumbled sleepily. It took him a second to notice the other person, but when they did his face crinkled up, perplexed. Jack's blue eyes flicked from one Pitch to the other, before he shrugged and grinned lazily. "So, there's two of you now, is there? That's pretty kinky, but I think I can dig it."

Pitch was staring at the two of the in abject horror, his mouth hanging open. It was only when this Jack let go of the other Pitch and started approaching him did he start out of his reverie and scramble backwards. "No, no, no. No, thank you. I'll… just be going now. Goodbye." Pitch turned around and drove right back into the jumble of letters.

Just before that reality vanish, he heard the other Pitch say: "It's for the best, Jack. You know I don't like to share…" _Oh God, this was going to haunt him._

Pitch opened his eyes this time to find himself surrounded by people, sitting at tables, pecking away at laptops, and sipping cups of steaming liquid. "…Why the devil am I in a coffee shop?!" he screamed in frustration.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Rant- *sobbing* Why am I doing this I should be studying for midterms I have no control over my life._

_Okay, I swear, this will be the last chapter I add to this thing. I'm putting my foot down, brain. Do you hear me?_

_... Anyway, I have created another non-crack ending to the thing, because reasons. Don't judge me! I promise I'll get on actual, non-insane fics as soon as I can wrestle my muse away from this terrible thing._

* * *

It had been _months_ and he still hadn't the faintest idea how to get back home.

At the moment, though, he wasn't so concerned about that as the staff that was currently being pressed against his windpipe as he stared up into suspicious blue eyes. He'd just had another fight with his other self and had come out of it pretty badly off, crawling off into an abandoned barn to nurse his wounds. He must have been a little too preoccupied with trying to keep too much of his black blood from pouring out of the gash in his side, because the next thing he knew Jack Frost had somehow gotten the jump on him. At least Jack was looking healthier, though there was a harshness to his eyes and face that wasn't present in _his_ Jack.

The frost spirit glared down at Pitch. "Which one are you?" he asked.

"Which one?" he asked flatly, inwardly panicking a bit. How had Jack found out? He'd stayed as far away from the Guardians as possible. Had the other him said something? Likely. He'd no doubt want to distance himself from Pitch's actions, considering how far from the norm they were. He hadn't expected the Guardians to _believe_ such an outlandish tale, though.

"There's two of you, isn't there? I saw you fighting."

Oh. "Does it matter which one I am?" Pitch asked. He _really_ should be fleeing through the shadows right now. Staying would likely end in Jack severely harming him, after all. But it hurt to move and it had been so long since Pitch had spoken to anyone…

"Depends." Jack tightened his grip on the staff. "Are you both evil?"

Pitch chuckled at that. "Do you expect an honest answer from me? I'm the boogeyman, Jack. Or one of them. Isn't that enough?"

"I want to know why."

"Why what?"

"Why you took me back to North."

"Why not? Maybe I just wanted to spite the other me. We aren't on the best of terms, you see." Pitch held out the hand that had been clutching his side, showing the black ichor that covered it.

Jack winced a bit at that and shifted so that his staff was no longer putting pressure on the boogeyman's windpipe, though it was still aimed at him. "You're… different."

"I'm not from around here. You may have guessed," Pitch shouldn't be telling Jack this. It was safer for the boy to be wary of any Nightmare King. But he couldn't bring himself to break off the connection. He hadn't realized how desperately he missed home until now.

"So why _are_ you here?"

Pitch smirked. "Maybe I was sent here to be your guardian angel."

Jack blinked, then chuckled a bit. "Heh. That's a good one."

The fact that this Jack was still able to laugh was a good sign, Pitch thought. "Don't I fit the bill? I must have misplaced my halo somewhere."

More laughter spilled from Guardian. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor."

"We haven't really had the opportunity to chat before."

"Guess not. Last time, I…" A slightly haunted look came into Jack's eyes. He squeezed them shut and shook his head. "How do I know you're not lying to me?"

Pitch shrugged. "You don't. This could all be a trap. I could just be distracting you long enough for a Nightmare to just sneak up behind you."

Jack flinched and whirled around. Nothing. He snapped back around to face Pitch again only to find that the boogeyman had faded into the shadows.

"You shouldn't trust me, Jack," came a soft reply, then nothing but silence.

Jack frowned and leaned on his staff thoughtfully. Just why was this Pitch so odd?

* * *

After another month of fruitless effort and research, Pitch felt despair start to creep up on him. He was never going to get to go back home. How long had he been gone there, he wondered. Had he missed Halloween?

Pitch leaned against a tree and sighed. What was he supposed to do now?

"Hey, Pitch."

He wondered momentarily if all Jacks had some kind of ability to let them know when his brooding was starting to reach critical levels and to storm in right at that moment. _Maybe you just sulk an inordinate proportion of the time, _a part of him piped up. It sort of sounded like Jack. "Frost," he said flatly by way of acknowledgement.

"You look really down. Like, more gloomy than usual. The other Pitch usually just looks angry." Jack landed several meters away, still holding up his staff defensively.

"Your powers of observation astound me," Pitch muttered grumpily.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything." Pitch replied softly. "I just… I want to go home." The _vulnerability_ of those last words made the boogeyman cringe. How did this blasted boy manage to drag out these confessions from him?

"Can't you?" Jack asked.

"If I knew how, I would."

"Where are you from?"

"Parallel dimension, different reality, something like that, I think. I don't know." Pitch said wearily. "It doesn't matter."

"North might know. Or Sandy."

"They won't help me."

"Maybe not, but they'll help me. And I do owe you one, still." The Guardian crept closer to Pitch, within arm's reach. "Now, hold out your arm."

Pitch eyed Jack suspiciously. "Why?"

"I gotta have some way to know which one I'm talking to, don't I? Now, arm."

Pitch sighed and held his left hand forward. Jack tapped it with his staff and a band of ice curled around the boogeyman's forearm like a bracelet. "There, that should stay put for a while. I'll see what I can do." With that, the wind lifted the Guardian up and he zipped off.

Pitch idly fingered the ornament, pondering. Jack was remarkable, in any reality. He seemed to be able to let resentment, bitterness and anger slide off of him like water. This trait had probably been what kept the boy sane through all his years of isolation, what had let him bond with the Guardians despite centuries of neglect, and –this last thought made Pitch scowl a bit– what had led Jack to turning down his offer in the Antarctic. The boy was simply terrible at holding grudges. Though, he supposed, it also had been what had let his Jack reach out to the defeated Nightmare King, so it wasn't all bad.

He definitely was not going to allow himself hope on this front, though. The Guardians would never help him, even if they could, and Jack would surely forget about him and go back to playing with children. No, he was on his own.

Though, he supposed, there was no harm in keeping the ice bracelet on for now.

* * *

The third time he was found was after another scuffle with himself, though it wasn't Jack who came across him. Instead, large, furry arms grabbed him and he found himself being shoved roughly through one of North's gaudy portals.

After a moment of disorientation passed, Pitch opened his eyes to see all of the Guardians glowering down at him. Panic surged through him and he scrambled backwards. He wasn't strong enough to fight them all off, not unprepared like this. A shadow, he had to find a shadow and get out of here.

"You say this one is not our Pitch, Jack?" North said, gripping his sabers.

"Yeah, that's the one." Jack looked at Pitch, who was still looking around for an escape route. "Relax a bit there. We're going to get you back home, alright? Manny even agreed to help."

Pitch stopped to stare at Jack. "The Man in the Moon? What makes you think that I want his help, or any of yours?"

"Beggars can't be choosers, Pitch. Besides, you aren't getting a say in the matter."

Once again Pitch was seized by the Yetis and dragged to the center of the floor, where a beam of moonlight was spilling onto some kind of pool of opalescent liquid. "Say hi to the other Jack for me, would you?" Jack said, and then Pitch was plunged into the stuff and everything went white.

* * *

Pitch awoke to something whining and nudging him with its nose. One of his Hellhounds seemed to be concerned about him. What for, he wasn't sure. Sleep wasn't common for him, but it wasn't unheard of. Pitch growled and shoved the beast away. The movement brought his arms within his line of sight and a blue-white glimmer caught his eye. A band of ice lay around his wrist, like a shackle.

Pitch frowned. What was that doing there? For a moment a niggling feeling of deja vu struck him, like something out of a dream. But the feeling passed and Pitch snapped off the ice. Whatever it had been, it probably wasn't important. He did have a sudden urge to go check up on Jack, though.


End file.
